What will Be Will Be
by rumjhum88
Summary: John loves talking to this man. The man who was once his patient. He is not so anymore. So why does he keep visiting the doctor's chamber? What pains him so? And why does the doctor look forward to it? Johnlock. AU. Don't own Sherlock or anything related. Character created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC does the series. Triggers- mentions of suicide attempts and self-harm.
1. Chapter 1

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_Sherlock stood on the edge of the rock staring at the gushing water beneath. It looked so wonderful so inviting. Why wouldn't anyone jump in it? It was so simple just to let it flow with one's body in it. It must feel so magnificent when the cold, untamed force dragged the body to its core with so much power. Oh! It must thrill a man to his core. It must be better than anything, more exquisite than anything at all._

_Look at the water, it's so white in the moonlight. It's like milk. It's so clean. So fair. How very deceiving of it. It can turn out the lights and bring endless darkness to the one who jumps in. Without marring the beauty, without staining the white, without caring it would continue to flow._

_Just like her. Just like her love._

_Her beauty was the same when he last saw her. Her body still warm. Those lips still crimson. Her skin still soft. Only those dark mysterious eyes were closed. That mouth which uttered things so sweet, so divine, so pure also things so scathing, so poisonous, so fatal was closed. Never to be opened again._

_It was for those words that he stood here now. It cost him his mind, body, soul and now it was going to take his life. Or whatever was left of it._

_When he had dived into her for the first time, he was not as confident as he was this day. She was soft, warm, quivering. But now, she is like this water, cold, rash, deadly. She was dead. Yet she was deadly. She was costing him his life._

_How could he live with a soul so marred with devious designs, a mind so used for causing death, a body which gave in to the temptations and heart which was so severely broken. _

_He couldn't risk living after what he had become. After what she had made out of him. Every light, warmth, tenderness was sucked out of him. He was filled with tendencies as black as tar. Something poisonous had spread all over him. All he saw was darkness, all he touched was void, all the heard was the bitter laughter of betrayal, all he breathed was smoke of his own burning heart._

_He wanted it to stop. He wanted to wash it all off. He wanted to be pure again. He knew when his body would be found there would be no trace of the darkness that he was carrying in his heart now. He would be as pure as he was on the day he was born, before the day he had met her, before the time he fell in love._

_He would jump into her embrace this one last time and let her play with him like a broken toy for one last time. _

_The river was her. She would be just like this forever. Even after he is gone. It is calling him. The sound is humming through his veins._

"_I'm coming."_

_It was so cold the first touch of water, it was so harsh the first feel of the pull but it was so silent after that, so dark, so peaceful. _


	2. Waiting

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"I'm a hermit."

"No! You're not!"

"Harry please stop trying. I'm fine!" John said with an exasperated roll of eyes.

Harry pouted in response.

"Harry, really, I've tried and failed. Going to a gay bar or somewhere and picking someone up or offering a drink is just not me. I can't do it."

"But John I don't want you to be lonely!" Said Harry in a strained voice, desperately trying to make John see reason.

_Lonely._

_There's that word again. He had been lonely all his life, it must have become a habit by now. Hasn't it? _

_Maybe not._

John sighed.

"Look Harry, if anything like that ever happens to me then I want it to happen naturally. Like you and Clara. Not something hastily put together like this. Yes I am alone but not desperate."

Harry looked at her brother intently. Of course he was not desperate. He had no reason to be. He was one of the finest men Harry had ever seen in her life. He reminded her of their so much. He was clever, kind, soft, affectionate, considering, he would always put others' needs before him. He had a good career. He was an army doctor once and after being invalided home he was now a surgeon at St. Brat's. He was handsome. Yet alone. Why people left him was a great mystery to Harry. Fine he was not adventurous, not that young and maybe a bit quiet at times but that doesn't mean he would have to be alone. There must be someone somewhere who would love her brother dearly for the qualities he had. But John was right, the pubs and clubs Harry tried to send his brother to were always frequented by people who were completely opposite of him. They looked for adventure, they looked for adrenalin and the looked for flings. Surely not her brother's idea of a good partner. And they always saw what John lacked. Not what he possessed and oh he possessed so much more than anybody could ever ask for.

Harry was sure John deserved a great man in his life. A person who would love him and cherish him for all that he was. If he didn't then he would have to go through Harry.

Harry and Clara had met during college and right from the beginning it was just _spontaneous_. Their relationship built up beautifully. And now they were married blissfully. Harry never thought she was better than her brother anyway. He always looked up to him. She couldn't understand why something like this didn't happen to him for so long. If it happen to someone like her.

Most of the time it broke Harry's heart seeing the longing and wait in her brother's eyes. But she also couldn't help feel that he was waiting for someone in particular. There was something about John that made her think that way. She even asked him several times. He would only smirk and say "Soul mate."

And harry wished he would show up. Soon.


	3. Accident

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John didn't really remember when it started. But he guessed everybody in their lives feel this way at some point of the time. Maybe for not as long as John did, but at least sometimes.

John felt lonely.

Walking down the street from work John played out his life and relationships in his mind. He was not the most popular but certainly not unpopular in school and medical school. He was friendly, cheerful, companionable and made friends easily. He was in the rugby team. He always had friends. He made many friends throughout his life and retained most of them. There were so many people who once came close to him would remember him always. Patients, classmates, people from the clubs, army. He was always there for everyone, always.

But somehow he had never managed to find that one person who would be more than a friend to him. Not in school, med-school, army. In army he had formed friendships and bonds with people who would die for him but such was the intensity of bonds formed in such circumstances where you don't know which of them would be lying dead next to you in a matter of time. But nothing more than that.

Love had somehow always eluded him. To be truthful he was a bit shy, maybe a bit too shy in his approach towards relationships. He was understanding but quiet, he was romantic but embarrassed about being openly so, he was caring but in a way that seemed a bit mother hen like to many, he was passionate but closeted. Somewhere deep inside he was afraid of letting anyone in. Afraid once broken he wouldn't be able to collect the pieces again. His emotions ran deep, they were not superfluous, not showy. But sadly no one ever bothered to delve deep enough to find out what treasures lay buried beneath the sea. He was a bit too conscious about his sexuality also.

After a time he had started to realize that friends weren't enough. There was Harry but then again here was a void which neither friends nor family could fulfill. Something was missing from his life and he became acutely aware of it when Harry found Clara. He was happy for them, very happy for his loving, caring, over protective, sentimental sister. But there were so many times when they would go out together and John would watch the anticipation and excitement with a bit of sadness, they would always be together when invited, the knowing glances, the loving gaze, the stolen touches. Most of the time John would notice with an amused smile. It was an open secret between the three. He was always a part. But there were times when he was left out. He didn't mind. It was obvious.

But he longed.

He still longed. Some days he would just tell himself that maybe it wasn't meant to be, that he was just a retired army doctor with a bad shoulder and a psychosomatic limp, that he was a hermit, he was old fashioned and boring. But there were days when he would find himself pining to find someone who would wake him up in the morning, with whom he could share his deepest feelings with, who with just a touch of a hand or a loving glance make him easy. Someone he could sit at the park with, watching kids play and planning the future. He wouldn't mind if he was adventurous himself, John would participate up to his limit and never deny him anything, in return he would just have to understand John and let him take his time to open up. Sometimes John thought what he wanted was so regular, it was a mystery why he didn't bump into someone like that, but on other days he would figure that what he wanted, this contrast was rare and special and it was undeniably difficult to find someone like that. So he waited.

And waited.

John's reverie broke when he found himself at the crossing. Just as he reached the light turned green. Before he could let out an exasperated huff a man from across the street walked straight into the rolling traffic and was within seconds hit by a truck.

John drew in a sharp breath as the scene unfolded. But he was too well trained to be standing there stunned. He called for an ambulance reaching for the figure through the traffic and gathering of people surrounding him.

A tall figure in a long coat lay in a pool of blood face down. John reached him saying he was a doctor and the crowd made space for him. He crouched down beside the body.

The man was in his early thirties, curly rich brown hair, sharp features and extremely pale skin. John took a bloodied hand in his.

He was still alive.


	4. Bother

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It was an eventful day for John.

Who knew on his way to back from his office he would be compelled to go back again. That too with an emergency patient. The man had two broken ribs, a wound on the forehead which threatened to haemorrhage, the flesh on his arms were severely mutilated and many other wounds all over the pale body. It was a high risk case. John immediately had to operate. He was able to stabilize him but his condition was still delicate.

Just after he got out of the OT he was confronted with two well-dressed men who asked him politely but firmly to accompany them. He was told it was regarding his patient. Though annoyed John followed them watching four other doctors bursting into the operation theatre where his patient still lay in wait to be transferred to a room.

To John's utter surprise they led him to the lab of St. Brat's. There was no one. Except for a tall man in an expensive suit holding an umbrella. He looked extremely melancholy, defeated. He stood with his head hanging over his chest. His appearance told John that this was not only wealthy but a powerful man. Of course. Who else would be allowed to have a tete-a-tete with a doctor at the Brat's lab? He surely had friends at high places.

_Plus these men. Are they body guards? _John thought bemused at the turn of events.

The man looked up on his arrival. His face became stoic. He surely meant to give away nothing unless necessary. He meant business. He gave a curt nod to the men accompanying John and they left.

John didn't know how to feel when the man spoke.

"Would you like to sit Dr Watson." The man said in a polite, polished voice.

_He knows my name. Of course._

"No, thanks I'm fine."

"You have just been through a tedious operation." The man said raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"Yes I have. But I'm fine." He said a bit annoyed. _Where is this going?_

"Very well then." The man said with a faint polite smile.

"I am Mycroft Holmes." The man said introducing himself. John unsure of what to say because this man already knew his identity stood still, waiting.

"I want to express my gratitude to you for saving my brother. Mr Sherlock Holmes."

_Now we're getting somewhere._

"The matter I want to discuss with you is of extremely delicate nature and would prefer they remain in the confines of this room."

John gave him a steely glare which said please get to the point.

The man understood.

"Dr Watson I need you to tell me what you know about the circumstances of this accident." He said fixing his gaze on John.

It unnerved John a this is what is was. A cover up. The man had clearly intended suicide when he just walked into the traffic just set in motion.

"It is an attempted suicide." John said plainly.

The man in front gave him a thoughtful look before speaking again.

"Dr Watson, my brother is an well-established lawyer and I myself occupy a minor position in the British Government. You can understand that we are what you may call beyond _ordinary_. "

The man said the word ordinary with a distinct distaste, it made John resentful.

_A ordinary doctor just saved your brother's life Mr Holmes._

The man looked at him a bit apologetically as if he could understand then continued.

"This is not the first time my brother has attempted suicide doctor." The man said plainly as if it were an everyday occurrence.

John's frown deepened and he continued to listen.

"Knowing our position in the society you may well imagine how much attention this kind of an incident may draw. It is particularly hard to keep the press away."

The man strolled across the room and came a little closer to John.

"I can quieten the media, police and others who may pose a problem in keeping this matter a secret." He said looking at John meaningfully.

"I would request you to keep the matter secret. In return I would grant you any favour you ask of me or I could help you financially." The man said with a fake smile.

That was enough for John.

"Sir, I am not interested in knowing how you twist the laws or quieten the media. I did what anybody in my position would do. As for your request I won't tell anyone about this incident not because I want something from you but simply because it's none of my business." John said trying hard to keep his anger in check.

John watched as the calm stoic expression on the man's face changed into a bit amused and reluctant one.

"I would give you one advice before leaving though. You said this was not the first time he had done this. Maybe you should do your brother a favour and watch over him more seriously. I think he needs help."

With that he turned to leave.

"He's my brother doctor Watson. I worry about him more than you can imagine. It is only because of my surveillance that he's still alive." The man said gravely.

John turned to face him one last time.

"Well I think you should worry more then. Because maybe next time it would be too late."

John said softly and left the room in utter disgust.

The man stood there with a knowing smile on his face. He knew his secret was safe.

John left the building soon after. He didn't need to check on his patient. He knew full well that he was being taken care of by some specialists. The ordinary doctor who had saved his life was no longer needed.


	5. Awake

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_Sherlock sat at his desk in the library engrossed in work when he heard the door creek open. He turned to find Irene standing with her back to the mahogany door wearing a sheer white nightgown. Her flowing brown hair matched the door behind her. Her eyes were needy, her bosom heaved with forced breaths, she was biting her lower lip so hard that it appeared white. The plush red one on top providing a stark contrast._

_Sherlock was too enthralled to talk. This was not the first time she came to him in the middle of the night seeking solace, love and burn her pains. But it was also not the first time when Sherlock was too enchanted on seeing her here like this. It happened every time. Her charms seemed unending to Sherlock. _

_Her feet made no sound as she stealthily walked up to him. Her magnificent curves visible through the flimsy material. She was swaying slightly. Sherlock was too dazed to discern whether from sleep or alcohol. She leaned on to him, putting her hands on Sherlock's arms. Her face was inches away when Sherlock breathed for the first time._

"_Irene…" _

_She smiled lovingly and grazed Sherlock's lips with a finger. For a moment they were lost in each-other's eyes. Sherlock could see her blown up pupils. He shivered at the thought that his own were of the same size by now. Irene did this to him, he did that to Irene._

_She leaned forward and…_

Sherlock became aware of pain scattered throughout his body. His head was throbbing, his breath was wheezing, it felt like an elephant was squeezing the life out of his chest. His limbs protested when he tried to move. He moaned and felt his throat dry. He became aware of the surrounding whiteness, familiar beeping sounds and faint smell of medicines.

_I failed again._

"Don't look so sad dear brother."Chimed a well-known voice from beside. He didn't turn to look.

"You almost succeeded this time." The voice spoke again.

He kept silent. Disgusted at his failure.

"To my good fortune and your bad there was a doctor on the scene." The man said without emotion.

"Bought him off, did you." Sherlock asked in a husky voice.

"Couldn't."

This made Sherlock look up at his brother.

"Interesting fellow Dr John Watson." Mycroft said grimacing.

_A man whom money couldn't buy? Must have been a shock for Mycroft. Certainly is for me._

"Take this pain as a lessen Sherlock. You'll have to be in bed for months. You'll hate it. Maybe you'll learn not to indulge in such foolishness again." The man said sternly.

Sherlock gave a sarcastic smile.

"One day there wouldn't be anyone around to save me."

"I will always be." Said Mycroft. Looking away.

"Then I'll have to take care of you first. You've hindered me long enough. You have deprived me of my solace. It wouldn't be much of a loss to the world."

Sherlock said with bitter mockery.

"By all means dear brother. You know where I keep my gun and I promise you that I'll stand unflinchingly before you whenever the time occurs."

Mycroft said plainly but failed to keep the hurt from his voice. He left his brother after that.

Sherlock knew he meant it. He knew it pained Mycroft to find him again and again in this position. But it had become inevitable. Life had become a farce.


	6. Chance Meeting

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Sherlock felt the bottle in his coat pocket.

It was a fine dusk. The air was warm but balmy and there had been no rain for the last two days. The sunset had painted the sky in magnificent hues. It was a perfect day for a stroll by the canal. But amazingly there were not many people around the small bridge over the smooth flowing water. The sky was reflecting on the water and it glistened like an oil painting. Moving as if it had life.

_Life. _Thought Sherlock. _Is so hard to escape_.

By the looks of it this was going to be a successful attempt but Sherlock was wary. Death had eluded him for so long that no matter how simple yet brilliant his plans were he could never fully trust it. There were so many hindrances. There were Mycroft's people, there were surveillances, there were security and most of all there were good Samaritans. Sherlock snorted at the thought.

_So many failed attempts bought on by worthless people who hardly care_.

And he had to put so much effort into each and every one of his attempts. Like now. He only knew how difficult it was to get sleeping pills dodging surveillance, to pick this canal where few came, Mycroft thought Sherlock wasn't mad enough to jump into it because he'd be saved and the water won't be deep enough to drown him. But there was a tide and Sherlock would have all the sleeping pills in the bottle and he would go down to the canal and lower himself slowly in.

This had to work. It just had to.

Sherlock stealthily put his hand in the pocket and grasped the bottle.

"Beautiful evening. Isn't it?" A voice came from his left.

Sherlock snapped his eyes close in utter dismay.

_Why now? Why today?_

He didn't even look up as the footsteps came close to him, showing his disregard. But the man seemed nonchalant. Instead of going away he actually came to stand beside Sherlock looking at the sky.

The man was of short height, blonde, with a limp and clearly looking for company. Sherlock realized it without looking and let out an exasperated huff.

"Too bad not many people out here are enjoying it." The man spoke oblivious to Sherlock's annoyance at being interrupted.

"I was actually. Do you mind?" Sherlock said roughly glaring at the man now.

The man gave him a faint smile, "Sometimes it's better enjoyed with company." He said unaffected.

Sherlock's rage sky rocketed and he lashed out.

"Is it so? Well you clearly seem to long for some as you haven't got any and are obviously depressed about it, longing for somebody to walk into your miserable life and put you out of such misery of being alone till half old with a limp and not much money. You are perfectly aware though as to why you haven't got anyone because all you can afford to give anyone is cheap champagne and severe boredom. And obviously trying to hit on me seeing me alone here. I'm sorry to turn down your not so subtle overtures but I AM NOT INTERESTED! "

The man's face turned dark, anger flickered in his brown eyes and ebbed. He looked away. As soon as Sherlock thought that he was going to get rid of him now he spoke again.

"You should move from here." The man said softly but Sherlock could detect the anger and frustration buried deep within. He felt a morbid sense of pleasure for being the cause of it.

"Oh! Should I? Is it your property?" He said sarcastically.

"Nope. It's just not good for you to stand here all alone."

"Are you police?"

"No."

"Seemed so. Are you my brother's man?"

"Most definitely not." The man said with a tight smile.

"Then who the hell are you to decide that?" Sherlock snarled.

"A concerned citizen." The man said plainly.

Sherlock took a good look at the man now. He was a bit intrigued by him now. He wouldn't leave after the scathing words which could break anyone. This man was stronger beneath this small outward appearance.

_A former soldier._

"Old habits die hard." He said looking at the man.

"Excuse me?" The man asked incredulously.

"Soldier weren't you? Still trying to be the hero you were once. Haven't you noticed? You have been invalided. So don't go around imposing yourself on people anymore. "

The man looked at him for a long moment. Sherlock could see something in him giving away. He couldn't pin down the exact emotion between anger and conviction.

"You have observed well Mr Holmes. But all I wanted to do is to avoid having to save one life twice."

Sherlock looked at him vacantly, clearly confused by what he had said. The man kept looking at him sternly, refusing to budge.

A faint light of recognition came over Sherlock's mind moments after.

"You're the doctor." Sherlock said tentatively.

"Excellent memory. Yes I am Dr John Watson and I would request you to get down from the bridge now so I can go home."


	7. Intrigued

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"Excellent way to behave with a man who saved your life twice." Mycroft said with an air of nonchalance pouring tea in the cups at the breakfast table.

"He just got in my way." Sherlock growled from the opposite chair.

"Without any profit though." Mycroft looked at him emphasizing.

"Moral profit, he was a soldier."

"And how many like him do you encounter every day?"

Sherlock stopped arguing. What Mycroft said was true. That man had integrity. He was honest, needy but not greedy and was strong, brave. Sherlock's words couldn't break him. Yet he was sure they hurt. They were meant to hurt. But the man did his duty unflinchingly. No, definitely not the kind of man he met every day.

Not the kind of man he had met in years.

He had seen people run for money, kill for money, live for money love for money. He had endured the worst kind of betrayal for money, been through darkest kind of immorality which made him what he was today. There was a time when he naively thought that those qualities that this doctor possessed were the ones which made a person beautiful. Now he simply believed such people didn't exist.

Then along came Doctor Watson, with his deep sense of morality, integrity, self-respect and genuine willingness to help others in the face of hostility.

He made Sherlock's faith in the simple notion that people like him didn't exist obscure.

_Maybe he'll eventually become like others. Maybe he just needed a push. His behaviour just doesn't make sense. Maybe he's just a fool like I was once. Maybe he still hasn't encountered an Irene or Moriarty. Maybe he also thinks naively that people like them don't exist and most people are like him. He has a small world. What does he know about people? Nothing surely. Maybe no one has faked love to him yet. Poor poor doctor! So much in need of a special someone. If only he could realize! What will he do after it happens? Will he become another me? Oh! We could be friends then! _

_Friends._

He didn't have any. Neither before not after he became a wreck of his older self. Suddenly he felt the need of a friend. He tried to convince himself that it was a bad idea, that people never worked for him, that it was only a matter of time when this John Watson fellow would also become as immoral, as devilish, as unscrupulous as the others but he failed. A faint hope kept burning at the back of his mind illuminating a small, blond doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a genuine smile.

He had helped Sherlock, well not the way it would actually help Sherlock but in the way people think was right. He wouldn't take money or favours. So Sherlock could just spare some of his knowledge of people and save the doctor a bit tragedy which he would walk into so easily otherwise. He wouldn't deny that? It was help in exchange of help. Surely his morality would allow that. And Sherlock would like to see himself again from five years ago in John.

He couldn't save himself. Maybe he could save John.

But why was he so keen on saving John? He had only caused him trouble. He could just sod the doctor. To hell with him. Let him be what he will in time.

Okay maybe just once he would try to tell him what people were really like. He wouldn't want to talk to him obviously being the idiot that he is. He would refuse Sherlock's help. He could just leave it there then. He would have had done his duty trying to help the man.

Yes, he would talk to John Watson.

Just once.


	8. Check up

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John couldn't believe it.

He just couldn't believe it. It had been three months since the incident and he hadn't heard from the Holmes. He was rather glad about it no doubt. And just a little bit curious as to why a man like that would want to kill himself so desperately.

He was rich. Good looking. What care of the world? A protective brother. Maybe he was the reason, John had thought amused. Who wants to have a person who decides everything could be bought by money around all the time?

The thought had made him laugh. He didn't see Sherlock after that day and didn't know when he had left. He was too irritated to find out. Life had taken its normal course since then. John was back to office and 221B Baker Street with hanging out with some friends and having meals with Harry and Clara thrown in between. It wasn't perfect but it was simple, it was okay. It was comfortably familiar.

Until he encountered Sherlock Holmes again.

John was out on a casual stroll like he did on off days and it was just fate that he went over to that canal which is usually les crowded than the others.

To his great misfortune he met Sherlock Holmes. Again.

He saved his life. Again.

Was ruthlessly humiliated instead of being thanked. Again.

_Well that man was worse than his brother. At least the older one was good with his words. No wonder this man wanted to die. Maybe he couldn't live with himself! Who could?_

John tried to get his mind off the incident but the truth is he couldn't help but go over and over the incident and feel awestruck at how the man had read him so well. Hurtful his words were but also true.

_Missed the obvious though! I had saved his life, twice and he behaved as if I was the reason behind his attempts! _

John thought ruefully and hoped that their paths never crossed again.

John went to work unassumingly the next week and was dutifully going through patients complaining of cold, stomach aches, gastroenteritis etc. when his next patient was announced.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes. For regular check-up."


	9. Advice

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"What?" John spat into the intercom.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes. He says he's here for a regular check-up."

John was still writing a report on his last patient and the pen fell from his hand as he stilled at the announcement.

_Fuck!_

"Should I send him in sir?" The lady at the desk asked bringing back consciousness.

"Huh? What…yes just give me a minute."

_What the hell does he want now?_

John braced himself for a battle and called in.

"Yes, send him in please."

John felt irritation creep up his spine and furrowed his brows at the door which opened to let in a tall lean figure draped in a long coat and blue scarf.

Sherlock's eyes roamed everywhere around the chamber before resting on John.

"How can I help you Mr Holmes?" he asked sternly. _No need to be polite with this git._

Sherlock looked on for a moment and said "I know you don't want to see me."

_No I don't. _"I'm sure the best possible doctors are at your disposal." John said with mock politeness.

"I didn't come here for a doctor."

John blinked confused.

"Then?"

"I came here for advice."

_What? Does this get any more weird?_

"From me?" John asked incredulously.

"No." Sherlock said pulling a chair to sit. "For you actually." He said sitting.

"And what makes you think that I'll take advice from you? Who himself is in need for some?" John asked completely taken aback.

A knowing smile spread across the other man's face.

"I knew you would deny. So I'll just leave." Sherlock said haughtily.

But for some unknown reason he felt stuck to the chair. He was happy that his deductions were right, that he didn't have to help this man after all but then why damn it that he couldn't move?

John looked at the man for a moment. He was till fazed by his demeanor.

"What's your advice anyway?" he asked despite himself.

_Oh curiosity! I can deal with that. _

Sherlock thought feeling mischievously contemplative.

"I want to give you some advice on life, and people." Sherlock said with authority.

_A man who has clear disregard for life and certainly doesn't know how to behave wants to give me advice on life and people. Interesting!_

"Uhhu." John said encouragingly, laughing at the back of his mind, maintaining a stoic face.

Sherlock saw both the mockery and the interest. He chose to ignore both.

He sat cross legged and turned slightly so he was not facing the doctor directly. John on the other hand looked at him fixedly.

"Well, first of all don't try to help people who haven't asked for it."

_Oh! Right! Now we are getting somewhere. This is your thank you visit for saving your damned life. I am not ready for your thank you speech Mr Holmes which will just demean me for doing something good to you._

John felt his irritation rising and giving a slight push to his anger.

"Very well, the next time I see you standing over a bridge with dubious intensions or lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the road I'll just walk past. I would have considered pushing you in but that would also be helping without being asked and also murder." He said with clear sarcasm.

"My life is not worth saving doctor." Sherlock said with bitterness.

John was already infuriated by the man's behavior and intentions. This only fueled it.

"Certainly is not. Your clear disregard for life and lack of gratitude for being saved is proof enough. People could use one prat less." John said grimly.

Sherlock was taken aback by the contempt the doctor was showing. He clearly didn't think this man was capable of it. After what he had said the previous day and the man stayed calm in the face of that this was clearly unexpected.

"You hate me." Sherlock said forlornly. _But he had saved me twice._

"Excellent analysis. Wonder why anyone would feel any different." _There you go!_

Sherlock felt stricken. For the first time in five years something dawned upon him.

So this was it. He was supposed to be hated. No one was supposed to love him. The doctor had made it clear which his mind couldn't pin down for so long.

_That's why everything happened to me._

Sherlock stood up abruptly.

"Thank you doctor." He said sincerely to John.

John's face fell watching Sherlock's demeanor change abruptly at his words and when the door closed behind Sherlock's retreating form he instantly regretted his words.

_What have I done._


	10. Apology

**Reviews for next chapter!**

**And thank you!**

* * *

"Looks like the doctor gave you a taste of your own medicine." Mycroft said reading news paper maintaining a stoic expression.

It had been a week since Sherlock's visit to the doctor and he seemed to be more and more retreating to his shell. This alarmed Mycroft. He found out about the incident easily and determined to talk to his brother about it. He couldn't blame the doctor, anyone would have behaved this way but he was extremely concerned that this may lead to another attempt from Sherlock to take his own life.

Sherlock didn't reply. It had been a week of magnificent self-discovery for him. Everything that happened to him made sense now. Now he knew how he had led himself to destruction. Now he could completely forgive the woman for playing him, using him for her own benefit and deserting him for someone else.

_Obviously._ He thought. _I am not meant to be loved by anyone. Then why would she? It was my own lack of judgement that I saw it that way for so long when the answer was so simple. It was my mistake that I thought I could be loved, it was my lack of knowledge that left me wrecked. It was me. All the time, all the pain caused was by myself only. No one else is responsible._

Mycroft saw where his brother's thoughts were headed. He knew this was going to get worse. Because no man could ever simply believe that he was incapable of being loved. Especially Sherlock who had a flood of emotion heavily lidded under that cool, rude, aggressive exterior. That is the reason he fell in love with the wrong person in the first place.

Wrong person. It was the kindest word to describe Irene Adler. A woman with forged identity who seduced and married a rich politician to bask in monetary gains and political manipulations. Sherlock naive and confused got sucked into a whirlwind of manipulative romance and left broken thought every person was wrong for him.

Worst now, he thought he was wrong for everyone. All because of a highly intelligent and unscrupulous woman who knew exactly how to play Sherlock.

Yes it was easy to break into Sherlock's shell. He never had a mother, never experienced familial comfort Mycroft being the only family left. He had to see to so many important issues from a very young age that he couldn't care for the small child like a child deserved. Lack of caring, nurturing, comforting made him vulnerable and susceptible to such gestures. His naivety about romance and physical pleasures didn't help the matters much.

Mycroft was sorry for not being able to give the child the affection he was entitled to, for not being able to give him proper guidance, for not being there on time to stop his life being ruined.

Now that the damage was done he had no other option than to help him cope and prevent further damage. He was doing it with all his life. After Sherlock's first attempt at his life he had moved him to his own house and refused to let him move out again. He had been quiet distant from his brother all their life and now it would be incredibly awkward if he tried to show affection. So he did what he could for him while staying as cold and detached as always. He only knew how much he hated himself and held himself responsible for his brother's deterioration.

And now this doctor fellow had contributed to all the existing troubles and made matters worse unknowingly.

Psychiatric treatments, rehabs, medicines everything had failed as Mycroft knew they would. No one could tamper with his brother's stubborn mind except for himself and when a notion was fixed in there then it was written in stone and the only person who could erase it was Sherlock himself.

Mycroft sighed as he looked at his brother staring out of the window, face stoic, deep in thought.

The first thought in John's mind was to run after Sherlock just after he left but he thought the better of it. Then he thought of calling him. He took the number from the reception but couldn't find the courage to call.

What if the man had already done something? What if he was held responsible? Oh that ominous brother of his would tear him apart.

John slapped himself mentally. A person's life was at risk because of him and he was panicking about himself? That was foul. He is a doctor. Most of all he had caused a person pain. Maybe he did deserve some of it but he was not the judge of what another person deserved.

After several attempts went unanswered John was left with no other choice than to leave a voice message. He didn't like it. He wanted to talk to the man personally and gauge the damage he had made.

_You have reached the voice message inbox of Sherlock Holmes. Please leave a message after the beep._

"Hello Sherlock. It's me Dr John Watson. I…uh…it would have been better if you took my call…but I can understand. Look I just wanted to apologise for what I said the other day. I had no right to behave that way and I'm sorry. And…if you want to talk to me again sometime…you know for giving me free advice and all…you could just drop by. Take care. "

John ended the call with a heavy heart wondering if the message at all reached Sherlock.

Sherlock sat on his bed looking at the wall listening to the message over and over again. A faint reluctant smile tugged at his lips.


	11. Accepted

**For my lovely reviewers! keep those responses coming! Please!**

* * *

It was a bright crisp day when John walked into St. Brat's nodding and greeting to well-known faces on his way to his office. Sherlock hadn't replied and he was still in anxiety. But a small voice at the back of his head, a voice which was seldom wrong but often ignored kept telling him that he would meet this man again. Soon.

"Okay, so little Emma's going to be just fine. Do come for another check-up next week."

"Who's next?" John called into the intercom after Emma and her mother left.

"It's Mr Sherlock Holmes for his regular check-up." The intercom buzzed.

And everything stopped. Except for the little ignored voice at the back of his head. _He's here. _It whispered. _He's alright._

"Send him in." John couldn't keep the relief from his voice.

For the second time in 10 days Sherlock Holmes stepped into John's office. He wore the same coat in which John had seen him from the very first day with a blue scarf around his neck and a stance that made his tall figure imposing in all surroundings.

He seemed hesitant, looking everywhere but John, kept hovering around the door.

A warm smile spread unbidden over John's face.

"Hello Mr Holmes. Please take a seat."

Sherlock looked up at John but didn't smile. He slid down on the chair before him and again started scrutinizing the office.

"Sorry I didn't really get to ask how you were doing on your earlier meeting." John said politely.

"Fine." The man replied succinctly and rubbed his nose sniffing slightly.

_Not in a mood to talk? Then why are you here? To relieve me?_

"So, what about your advice Mr Holmes?" John asked clearing his throat.

"Sherlock."

_Oh. _"Sherlock."

This time the man looked at John fully. Giving him an all knowing, piercing glance. He held John's gaze and said,

"You thought I would harm myself because of what you said."

_Yes because you did try in front of me twice! _"Yes I did."

"That's why you apologized. Though a little late." The man snorted.

_Okay the snarky remarks are back. What did I think he'll be like anyway?_

John sighed. "No Sherlock, that's not the reason why I apologized."

Sherlock gave him a wary look, like he didn't believe what John was saying.

"I apologized because what I said was wrong. Every human being has the right to be loved. My words were wrong and hurtful. I'm sorry." John said sincerely. "And I know it was a bit late but it felt awkward calling a person I didn't know well." _I did though, you never did. _

Sherlock looked deeply in to John's eyes, searching for the original sentiment behind them and looked away.

"I didn't apologize." He said gravely.

_Neither thanked_. Thought John. "It's okay Sherlock, I can understand."

Sherlock's head jerked up and met his eyes. Grey-blue eyes livid with intense pain and screaming for understanding. John had no idea on what mine field he had stepped on. The raw passion in those otherwise ruthless, cold eyes took his breath away.

"Can you?" The baritone whispered.

The bewilderment written all over John's face was answer enough and like a switch had been turned off the passion drained from those burning eyes and they became cold in an instant.

"No you don't." the man drawled turning away his gaze.

John's throat suddenly seemed very dry and he felt utterly stupid for what reason he couldn't find.

"I-I can if you tell me." He offered after collecting himself.

"No you can't." Sherlock said in a dismissive tome standing up.

"Do not trust people, John." He said in a resonating deep voice. "People are bad. That's my advice."

With that he turned and left a John wearing a quizzical expression and a dazed brain.


	12. Explain

**Please let me know!**

* * *

John spent the rest of the day wondering what had made Sherlock lose faith in people completely, whether this was the reason for his many attempts on his own life. If it was so then what was the event that had curved such a deep hole into the man's soul. And most importantly if he could help him in anyway.

Surely, Sherlock was rude, snobbish, highhanded, cold and aggressive but something about the man evoked sympathy. Something about him said he was lost. Something about him that made John want to reach out to him, comfort him and reassure whatever bad had happened to him won't happen again.

John sighed sitting on his bed with his evening cuppa, staring out the adjacent window.

He took his mobile from the bedside table and typed lazily.

_There are no good or bad people. _

And sent it without expecting an answer.

The next day as soon as he set foot in his office reception he was confronted with an extremely agitated Mrs Wilson, the lady at the desk.

"Dr Watson! You have a very impatient patient inside your office! I tried to stop him but he just won't listen!" The dear old lady was almost shivering with anxiety.

_Sherlock?_

John tried to calm her down by saying that it was okay and he would handle it, maybe it was some kind of an emergency. The lady's frown only deepened but she let the matter rest in John's hands.

John was greeted by the sight of Sherlock lounging on the patient's chair with an irritated expression.

"Please explain." He said looking at John like this was the most usual, mundane situation.

John realised he was gaping at him. He closed his mouth and traded the gaping for a frown.

"Explain what?" He asked closing the door and walking to his desk.

"Your text." There was a hint of irritation in Sherlock's voice as John sat down on his chair still trying to guess what to feel about this.

"Or do I have to remind what it was." Sherlock added exasperated.

John looked at Sherlock and thought how infuriating one man can be. If he was asked to choose between a room full of whiny kids and Sherlock he would choose the former.

"Yes the text." John huffed looking at Sherlock. "didn't expect a reply though." _Definitely not this kind._

Sherlock drummed his fingers on John's desk, one eyebrow raised questioningly, eyes glowing like torches that would find the answer out from John's head before he replied.

"Sherlock, there are no good or bad people." John started looking squarely into the man's eyes. If he had to deal with this man then this was the only way. The straight way.

"Some people are right for us and some people are not. People who are right for you make you happy, they give you what you want, need. Wrong people cause us pain. So, it's infinitely important that we find and be with the right people and avoid the wrong ones no matter how attractive they seem." John explained like he was explaining to a child. But the notion stuck in Sherlock's mind was childish. How can a grown up man like him feel that 'people were bad?' It was like someone had taught a five year old that fire was bad.

Sherlock's expression changed abruptly. He looked like he had learned something unusual, something he didn't know existed yet made sense. He looked at John with that lost look that made John's heart cringe.

"Are wrong people usually attractive?" He asked tentatively, looking wide eyed.

"Yes they are. They are like something forbidden that makes us want to explore them, something we know we ought not to do but want to because it thrills us because we know it's dangerous." John said nodding at Sherlock and halted for a nanosecond feeling how accurately the description fit Sherlock.

_Yes. Yes she was attractive, her mind was, her body was. She told me the exact things she knew I would like to hear. She gave me mystery, she gave me danger, she gave me forbidden. But how did John know? Has he gone through something similar? But how can he be like this if something has wrecked-havoc in his life like mine?_

He looked at John searchingly.

_Was the doctor hiding something beneath the surface? Was he that good at camouflaging feelings? _

His gaze turned suspicious.

"How do you know?" He asked warily.

John looked at the narrow eyed look Sherlock was giving him and a thought flashed in his mind.

"Is that what happened to you Sherlock? You fell for the wrong person?" John asked softly and instantly realized his mistake.

Sherlock's face became stoic he stood up and left like a whirlwind.

_Oops!_


	13. Anticipation

**Please review!**

* * *

Why does he always do that? Why does he leave so abruptly without giving John a chance to apologize? Okay, so he had asked something indiscreet for a second meeting but bloody hell he was the one asking the questions! Sherlock indulged John and ran off without giving him time to say sorry. Again.

John released an exasperated sigh sitting in the same position as the night before and did the same thing.

_I just wanted to help you. I know you hate the idea but I really thought you were opening up to me. Sorry, if I miscalculated the situation. I'll never ask anything so indiscreet again._

He sent the text half expecting Sherlock sitting in his chamber the next morning.

John was just trying to get him to talk. He just wanted to have some fun knowing the gory details of Sherlock's life. He was just another nosy person that he had encountered. He was a wrong person himself. Yes, that's exactly what he was. Sherlock was never going to see him again. It was a bad idea in the first place. Silly doctor, thought he could make Sherlock Holmes talk just like that. Yeah, like that's going to happen. Maybe he wanted some spice in his mundane life, maybe he would try to lend a shoulder to Sherlock and then use him just the same. Oh what a fool Sherlock was to walk into his office.

Sherlock's phone chimed breaking his mental monologue, cracking his resolve.

The next day when John arrived at office trying and failing to keep the hope out of his mind to see Sherlock waiting, Mrs Wilson just smiled and bided good morning. John's heart sank a bit without his permission. Maybe Sherlock was gone for good. Maybe that was a good thing. Then why didn't it feel like anything close to good?

John waited the whole day without even a text from the man. He felt unusually tired reaching home and slumped on his bed without dinner. He took his mobile several times in his hand and tossed in back on the bed. He fell asleep whispering to himself, "Good night Sherlock."

Sherlock sat on the window ledge of his bedroom staring at the starry night sky, mobile in hand, reading John's message for the fourteenth time since receiving.

* * *

John felt a bit feverish the next day as he woke up and got ready for office. He checked his mobile and was disappointed once again. He had some medicine before heading out thinking it'll get better by lunch time. Mrs Wilson looked up to him disapprovingly as he entered his office and failed to determine the reason for her annoyance.

He opened the door and couldn't help the surprised yelp that escaped his throat.

"You know you should really make an appointment before coming here." He said closing the door. The cool blue eyes followed him across the room as he went to his chair and sat down looking expectantly at Sherlock.

"How do you discern?" The baritone asked conversationally.

_People, right wrong, Oh yes. _"Well, I just follow my instinct." John said tentatively.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and a sarcastic smile spread on his lips.

"And you never make any mistakes?"

"Oh! Loads of!" John said rolling his eyes and moving some papers on the desk.

"Then what do you do?"

"Move on." _As simple as that_. John shrugged and met Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock seemed uneasy. He looked away from John trying to hide something.

"It's not that simple always." He said darkly after a few moments.

John looked at Sherlock intently for some time. He put his hands together and placed them on the table. Sherlock watched and removed his own hand from the table. John saw but ignored.

"No it's not." Said John. "Sometimes it's extremely difficult. But you have to move on all the same. Everybody makes mistakes Sherlock and everyone would have stopped living by now if they didn't move on. Simple people with simple minds move on so why can't you?" John looked at Sherlock imploringly.

"Who said I'm not?" snapped Sherlock.

"All I can see that you're moving from one suicide idea to another." John said truthfully.

Suddenly Sherlock's snappish demeanour changed to a smug one.

"What does your instinct say about me?" he asked in a velvety voice slightly grinning.

John gulped, he could feel his face flush.

"Can I send the next one in doctor?" The old woman's voice spoke from the intercom breaking the status quo. And again before John could open his mouth Sherlock was up and leaving only this time he gave John a long lingering look before stepping out.

_Was he flirting with me? _John thought stirring his evening tea. A rush of wild hope overwhelmed his heart and mind for a moment before he sternly reined them in. This was too much to hope. He was an attractive rich guy with a disturbed past, why would he pick someone like him? Besides maybe he wasn't even gay. The words spoken by Sherlock on their fateful meeting on the bridge rang in John's ear and somehow it bought on a gush of fresh pain. He definitely was not interested. But John knew John was. He told himself that he would stop meeting this man. He was not a psychiatrist, it was not his job and it was clearly becoming a problem professionally and personally. He would have to ask Sherlock to stop visiting him. John stood still for a moment feeling a piercing pain through his body. It took time to understand that the pain was not physical.

He texted again.

_My instinct says you're alright._

Sherlock grinned looking at the screen at which he was staring for the past couple of hours.


	14. Lunch

**Thank you everyone! But I'm still hungry for more! Are you? lemme know**

* * *

John woke groggily next morning feeling the temperature had risen again and he had cold too.

_Things don't get better than this. _He thought grumpily and called sick at work. _Okay, so for one day I won't have to anticipate Sherlock. _He thought lying back down again. He had to rise after an hour or so because of the joint pressure created by his stomach and bladder.

After bath, breakfast, medicine and the first cup of tea he felt human again. As he reached for the refrigerator for milk to add to his second cup of tea his phone chimed. John left the milk on the kitchen table and took it out from his trouser pocket.

_Oh! Please Sherlock! Not now! Not today! Please leave me alone for one day! _

He opened the text grunting.

_Why aren't you here? S.H._

_I'm sick. JW_

_You're a doctor. S.H._

_So? Aren't I allowed to be sick? J.W._

_You can cure yourself. S.H._

_Yes, well that takes time! J.W._

_How much time? S.H._

_What do you want Sherlock? J.W._

There was no reply after that and John sat down with his tea with a sigh of relief.

That lasted till lunch time.

_How are you now? S.H._

_Better. Thanks. J.W._

_Okay so come to Angelo's for lunch at 1pm sharp. S.H._

John rubbed a hand over his face_. Unbelievable_. This man could be a right pain in the posterior and thanks to John himself it was now his posterior that Sherlock was paining.

John got up grunting.

It was a cloudy, chilly day and certainly not the kind of day you want to go out for lunch with the man you want to avoid with a running nose and temperature.

Sherlock looked up from a table at the corner of the restaurant as John walked in pulling his coat closer to his body. He sat down with the angriest expression he could manage with his sniffing and secret pleasure for seeing Sherlock. Sherlock on the other hand maintained a stoic face.

"What's the emergency Sherlock?" John said curtly.

"Lunch."

"I'm sick Sherlock!" John groaned exasperated.

"So, you should eat well." Sherlock said with a half-smile.

"I'm not hungry." John barked.

At this his treacherous stomach growled loudly. If it wasn't his own stomach John could swear he would have punched it.

"Should we order?" Sherlock asked in a bored tone making John flush different shades of red.

John took up a menu and hid his face. Sherlock seemed oblivious to everything he sat looking nowhere in particular.

"Have you made up your mind already?" John asked peaking.

"About what?" Sherlock seemed confused.

"Food."

"Oh, I ate this morning."

"So did I."

"I'm not sick."

"You may become. Look, try this." John said showing him an item on the menu.

Sherlock looked at John as if he was trying to come to a conclusion.

"Why do you care?"

John sighed. "Because I'm your friend. And a doctor. " John placed both their orders.

Sherlock stopped breathing, stunned. It took a moment or two for John to realize that the man in front of him was completely, utterly silent.

"What?" John asked intrigued.

"I never had friends." Sherlock breathed. His eyes wide. Maybe it was just a figure of speech, maybe John will just change his mind now. How can John think of him as a friend? Has he done anything that friends do? Has he unknowingly?

Instead of recoiling John gave him a kind amused smile. A John thing, Sherlock noted.

"You have now." John said curving his eyebrows for a second before plunging into the food presented before him which he had tried to decline earlier saying he wasn't hungry.

A faint confused, amused, intrigued smile tugged at Sherlock's lips.

All was quiet on the Sherlock front until it was dinner time.

Just as John sat down with his bowl of spaghetti in front of the telly, his phone chimed.

"Oh what now?" John groaned as he picked it up from the coffee table before him. It was unfailingly Sherlock.

_How are you now? S.H._

_Fine. What is it now? Dinner? Sorry I'm already having some. J.W._

_No. Can't take more food today. Are you going to join work tomorrow? S.H._

_I'm better, but can't say. Why? J.W._

_Okay then I'll ask before coming to your clinic. S.H._

_Sure. J.W._

_Good Night John. S.H._

_Good Night Sherlock. J.W._

John tossed the phone on the sofa beside him with an involuntary goofy grin on his face which faded soon enough.

_You were supposed to ask him not to visit you anymore._


	15. Messed

**Trust Sherlock to mess up big time! please review and talk some sense into the man!**

* * *

Mycroft was well aware of Sherlock's visits to the doctor and he was not completely opposed to it. The doctor seemed to have a positive effect on Sherlock which was understandable given the doctor's character and background and his own brother's circumstances. The problem was however, how long was it going to last. What effects would it have on Sherlock's already damaged mind if the doctor moved away somehow, which was extremely likely given the situation. Mycroft was ready to hire the doctor's help, give him any amount of money to be around Sherlock or even to request him to do so. But knowing the doctor his every endeavour would be futile. He had to let it flow naturally, he couldn't control it, couldn't blame anyone if this ended and couldn't stop Sherlock for the life of him, because after five years Sherlock was interested in something other than killing himself. That something was John Watson.

He tried nonetheless.

"You do know Sherlock, that visiting a doctor's chamber regularly without having any ailment is not quiet appropriate."

Sherlock knew that perfectly well, he just didn't want to acknowledge it. Besides, John never said anything about it.

"It's fine."

Mycroft took a long glance his brother before voicing his next issue.

"You do know about his sexual preferences."

"Yes." Sherlock replied dryly.

"You know what this may lead to, at least for the doctor."

_A broken heart. _Sherlock didn't reply. He liked John Watson. He gave him a diversion, it was him who said that he was a friend. Sherlock just wanted his time and nothing else. John would have to understand it.

_Coming? S.H._

_Yeah. J.W._

_Need to talk to you about something. J.W._

_Me too. S.H._

John nonchalantly went past Mrs Wilson's disapproving glare and wasn't surprised to find Sherlock in the patient's chair. He felt his eyes following him across the room as he went to his desk and sat down. He looked up at Sherlock squarely in the eye. He had to say it. A look of comprehension crossed over Sherlock's eyes as he continued to look gravely at John.

"Sherlock, it's a bit odd to come to my chamber for a chat." He began without pretext.

"You don't want to see me anymore." Sherlock said flatly.

For the first time in that day John was surprised. He was surprised to find not the slightest emotion in Sherlock's voice or face, he was surprised to find that Sherlock was ready for this, he was surprised to find that he himself was not.

"It's not like that." He said looking away, trying to hide his own emotions. "We could meet up somewhere else."

This was not good. Mycroft was right. He should have seen this coming. John could not mess with the job he had, he was a man of merge means, he couldn't let Sherlock mess with his job. And he was attracted to men. Whereas he didn't want anything tampering with his job he still wanted to see Sherlock. _This was definitely not good._ Sherlock thought and cursed the situation mentally, again strange flow of emotions had bought difficulty and destruction on his path.

"Where?" Sherlock asked, eyes searching John's.

"Some place I generally meet up with my other friends? For a drink or coffee etc." John said looking hopefully at Sherlock but somehow he knew what the answer would be.

"I don't like public places." Sherlock said coldly. "I don't like people."

_Yes right, not many people like you either._ "I am people." John said softly.

"I didn't say I like you."

_No you just talk to me because you don't have anything better to do._ "Then why do you talk to me?"

"It's a distraction."

_Here we are John! Welcome to the heart wrenching revelations!_ A sad smile spread across John's face as he looked at Sherlock who was looking agitated now.

"John, I don't want anything except talking." Sherlock said swallowing, why was he finding it so hard to say this to John? Why was John's sad face having an effect on him?

"Not even my friendship?"

"John we both know where that would lead to and I don't want to hurt your emotions. You have been of great help…"Sherlock was stopped mid-sentence by John's raised hand and his glare.

"Please leave."

Sherlock gaped. John glared. After a few moments Sherlock rose and left the chamber.

John felt abused. He sat there holding his head in both hands.

Sherlock felt the depression creeping back as he stood outside of St. Brat's. Why was John angry? Couldn't he see what was coming? Couldn't he see how bad it would have been for him? Couldn't he see that Sherlock was just trying to help him? Wasn't there any other way to keep talking to John without messing things up? Was John going to see him ever again?

Sherlock turned and stood facing the great entrance to St. Brat's.


	16. Encounter

**Extremely sorry! New job, new location, still settling down etc etc. I won't abandon my stories. Thank you for waiting.**

* * *

Of course John would talk to him again! The man finds him interesting, attractive, he's the only diversion in his otherwise mundane life. How could he just ask him leave? Oh he'll just message again after sometime. This very evening and beg Sherlock to come visit him again.

_But what if he didn't?_

Sherlock had hurt his feelings by stating the obvious. They were each other's distractions. They needed each other to escape from the lives they were living. But as ordinary people often do, John didn't take the obvious as it is. He needed some kind of a kind shiny wrapper wrapped around the truth. Something that Irene was so good at. _Oh she was so damn good at._ He should have checked himself for selfish reasons. With John gone he would have to resort to planning his death. Why did the idea seem so uninteresting suddenly? And why did that dull man seem so interesting? Distraction, distraction. He needed a distraction. He badly needed a distraction. Why couldn't he just go with the flow and let the man have his way? Let him be in whatever fantasy world he wanted to be in with Sherlock and keep pretending. It was so hard to find a person who could keep his interest for long. He could have just refrained from any entanglements on his part. Oh what a misjudgement on his part. But wait. There's still time, isn't there? He could still go back and feign apology. The good doctor would surely fall for it.

This is exactly what Sherlock's going to do. Keep John Watson until he becomes just as tedious as life itself.

Sherlock released a breath and his eyes sparkled in his dimly lit room.

* * *

What did you think John Watson? You were what? Cinderella? A prince charming would just pop into your life like that and you'll live happily ever after? A person like Sherlock Holmes? Who were you kidding?

_Myself. _John thought grimly looking at his pint sitting at the counter of a demure gay bar. Why he came here he had no idea. Maybe he was looking for a quick shag to erase the memory of the clear, scathing rejection of this morning. Maybe he just wanted to talk to a stranger. A heartbroken man like him looking for solace. Or maybe just wanted sex. Pure and natural remedy for the time being.

John swirled the liquid in the glass immersed in his thought when he heard a heavily accented voice from beside him.

"It's impossible."

The chain of thought broken John looked around to find a man in his forties taking a swig of his drink. He was tall, a bit tanned, fit, had salt and pepper hair. He was wearing a cream color suit. The man looked too sophisticated for a bar like this. His presence oozed authority yet he had a certain careless air about him. He seemed familiar for some reason. The man put the glass on the counter and caught John staring.

"Seems I've thought aloud." He said a bit apologetically.

John instantly looked away. He hadn't realized that he was staring.

"Hello." The man said to John. John looked up. The man stretched a hand towards him. "I'm Greg."

John shook his hand with light smile.

"My friends keep insisting me for coming here. They think it's a good place to find a, what do you say?" Greg shrugged "A partner. But I say the only partner you get from here is a sexual partner and the only kind of relationship that can be had with then is a one night stand."

"My thoughts exactly." John replied.

"So is that why you are here?" Greg asked, curious.

John was taken aback for a moment. _Is this an invitation? _ But the man clearly looked disinclined.

"My sister keeps pushing me." He said taking the final sip from his glass.

"Caring siblings." Greg said thoughtfully. "Wish I had one of those." He said a bit sadly.

John looked at him emphatically. "They can be a real pain in the arse some times." He said smiling.

Greg smiled at him too.


	17. Enchanted

**Love is in the air!**

* * *

John came to consciousness with a bad headache and a good mood. As he felt the hangover kicking in with vengeance he also realised he felt sated, strangely. Since when does drinking have that effect on him? He thought trying to open his eyes to the morning sunlight.

_Sated._

_Sated!_

_That man at the bar!_

_Greg!_

_Did we…? _

_Oh! Dear god!_

John's eyes opened wide at the realization.

Oh this was a fine mess. A fine fine mess. First you get emotionally involved with a wrong guy then to aggravate it you sleep with the person who told you on your face what he thought about pub relationships.

_Perfect._

The bed was empty but he could hear a presence in the house.

_He hasn't left._

As if on cue with a rustling of clothes and a hurried huff Greg entered the bedroom to behold a very hangover-ed very messy looking John lying in bed, trying to cover his dignity with a sheet.

Contrary to John's expectation Greg visibly beamed at his sight.

"Oh Hi! You're awake." He said flashing a contended smile.

_So, last night was good. A concession._

John thought smiling weakly.

Greg was in his cream suit but the buttons of the shit inside was still opened and he was practically struggling with his cuff buttons.

John saw him staring at him and offered a feeble smile. Greg swallowed, hesitating.

John was under no illusions. He just hoped this ended quickly enough.

"Listen." Greg said after what seemed like gathering some courage. He released a breath and looked away for a moment. John tried not to look offended already about what he was about to listen to.

Greg looked at John and held his gaze for a moment before saying "I made you tea."

For a moment John felt the urge to giggle at the absurdity of the comment and Greg's serious demeanour of saying it but then thought the better of it.

"No, sorry." Greg seemed to realise his mistake. He waved his hand as if to erase the comment from the air.

"John." He said finally, meeting John's eyes unflinchingly. "What I said last night at the pub, about the nature of the relationships formed there, I don't want this to be like that."

John frowned, slightly taken aback, his brain still not fully on track.

"I would like to see you again." Greg said sincerely.

John's eyes widened.

Greg registered. "If it's possible for you." He offered looking hopeful.

John gulped before replying and managed in a squeaky tone that his extremely dried throat allowed.

"I-I would like to." John licked his lips still not fully registering what actually was going on.

Greg released a breath looking visibly relaxed. He smiled at John warmly.

Something inside John's fatigued body fluttered.

"The tea's in the kitchen. I would have made breakfast also if a murder hadn't occurred two blocks away. " Greg explained to John's utmost shock.

"My name is Gregory Lestrade. I'm the DI, Scotland Yard." Greg further explained noticing John's expression.

John jolted up from his lying position, shocked.

"You're the DI."_ I've slept with the DI Scotland Yard and he wants to see me again. All right, I can digest that. In time, that is. Not right now. Wow!_

Greg smiled amused at John's apparent inability to grasp the situation instantly. Then his expression changed to a serious one.

"I couldn't find where you kept the Aspirins, do take some. Okay? " He asked looking concerned.

That fluttery thing happened again. John nodded feebly. Still dazed.

Greg nodded in affirmation. "I should really get going." He said scratching his temple with his index finger.

"Okay."

Greg looked away but didn't move. He stood there contemplating something. He walked over to the side of the bed where John was sitting. He hesitated for a moment and then bent down and placed a chaste kiss on John's forehead.

John almost melted. It was awkward. But it was immensely tender. Their eyes met. Greg offered a very shy, awkward smile.

"I've left my card on the side table." He said pointing. "Do call. And if I'm not able to answer please don't mind. I'll definitely call you back."

John nodded at Greg who was looking expectantly at him.

"Alright. Have a good day then."

"You too."

John was practically reeling when he stepped out for work that day. He couldn't help the goofy grin and honestly he didn't want to. This was a nice

break from the personification of rudeness that was Sherlock Holmes.

Greg is warm, unlike Sherlock, he's just cold and scathing.

Greg is pleasant, he's funny, Greg made him feel good about himself again. Everything completely opposite of Holmes.

John stopped in his tracks realising he was comparing them subconsciously without any reason.

_You can't stop thinking about him. You have to. Greg is far better than what Sherlock could ever be. Most importantly he actually wants you._ He chastised himself.

Mrs Wilson caught his attention as soon as he walked into the chamber.

"Oh! Doctor Watson, your patient Mr Holmes has asked for an appointment. I thought it better to ask you before I confirmed him."

With his jaw set firmly John said without thinking "Thank you Mrs Wilson. Please tell Mr Holmes that it won't be possible for me to see him today. In fact I'm very busy all week." He said a bit conspiringly to which Mrs Wilson gladly complied.

After disconnecting the call which reached him to convey the cancellation of his appointment with Dr Watson and to inform him that he was busy the entire week Sherlock looked sternly at his phone.

Doctor Watson needed a visit very soon.


End file.
